Did it before. Can do it again

Made an interesting discovery this week.

My manager and I have been doing what is for the most part a line-by-line edit/polish of my western.

(A quick aside to note that it is quite a thrill to include that part about having a manager.)

We’re about halfway through, so I took it upon myself to go through the second half and then go over it with him. I like how it turned out.

But while I was reading, one thing that really stood out about it: there were a lot more scenes and sequences than I remember. It had more of an impact this time because I’m still working on the story of my new spec, and seeing all those little scenes in the western that enhance the characters and story make me think “this is what I need to do for this one”.

I’m still figuring out the story, so this may just be me getting ahead of myself. I’m not concerned, and know I’ll eventually figure things out. This may just stem from seeing how put-together a previous script is and wanting to a similar outcome for the new one. This happens a lot during this stage in the process.

Not that I’m looking to re-capture what feels like lightning in a bottle, but figuring out the story and all the supporting details is always a challenge. I come up with the major plot points and then start filling in the blanks between them. Sometimes I’ll create a list of all the ideas and possibilities that could be included, and then start picking and choosing. I already had a few set pieces, so I may work on expanding that.

This is all part of how it works – for me, anyway. I’m always amazed to see another writer just crank ’em out with what appears to be little effort. This just reinforces the idea that I’m a plotter, not a pantser.

I don’t mind having to go through all of this. I’m sure I’ll be happy with the end result; it’s working my way there that’s the challenging part.

Finish line crossed. On to the next one

It might not be too far-fetched to say there were more than a few times I thought this day would never come, but it did.

It took a while, but yours truly can now honestly and proudly proclaim to be

A WRITER WITH REPRESENTATION

(insert triumphant fanfare here)

I recently signed with a manager who really likes my writing and is incredibly eager to help me establish a career as a working screenwriter.

I’d connected with him on LinkedIn after responding to a listing asking for scripts to review and potentially promote. I sent the fantasy-comedy. He and his team really liked it. Their notes and comments are buried somewhere in my laptop’s digital folder for the script.

This led to several back and forth emails and lengthy Zoom calls. He wanted to know more about me, my writing, my goals, career plans, etc. I also got to know more about him and his background (started as a producer, sold the company and switched to managing).

He liked my work and what I had to say, both in my writing and as a writer. A little more back and forth, a revised contract, and voila.

I am officially a repped writer.

Fantastic as it is to say that, I’ve no plans to kick back and take it easy. On the contrary. Bigger and more challenging goals of getting my scripts out there await, along with continuing work on new projects.

And I am ready like you wouldn’t believe to take on all of it.

I would also like to add that I am truly overwhelmed and incredibly humbled by all the positive and supportive comments and notes of congratulations I received from across social media. That kind of support and encouragement means a lot, and I am very grateful for it.

Heed the words of Mamet -OR- Don’t overstay your welcome

I’ve been on somewhat of a tear lately in regards to watching films – both at home and in theaters.

One of the things that’s really stood out is the tightness of the writing. In every film, the scenes don’t waste time. They present what’s needed at that particular moment while also advancing the story.

I’ve always had a tendency to overwrite – especially in my earlier scripts. There was just too much on the page, or some scenes just went on too long. This would result in necessary editing and trimming down in subsequent drafts.

But then I heard a piece of advice I’m fairly certain is attributed to playwright David Mamet:

GET IN LATE, GET OUT EARLY

I interpreted this as “Get to the point of the scene as soon as possible, then move on to the next one”.

You don’t want your reader/audience to be bored by slowing things down with anything unrelated to the story. They’ll become less interested in wanting to see what happens next. Once that happens, you’re pretty much screwed.

This is something I’ve seen in a lot of scripts – especially from newer writers, along with a handful of seasoned vets. Many is the time I’ve given a note along the lines of “this is good, but tightening it up would make a world of difference.” Sometimes it’s dialogue, or description, or action lines.

If something can be cut from a scene and the scene still accomplishes what it needs to, then whatever you cut didn’t need to be in there in the first place.

When I outline, I do so with a “what’s the point of this scene?” approach. What happens in this scene that advances the story? Even as the story continues to grow and develop, the focus on the main point of each scene continues. There may be a small amount of overwriting in the first few drafts, but those are quickly dealt with.

This approach has really helped contributed to establishing the flow and fast reads for my scripts, and I’m looking forward to applying it to the current spec.

No restraints! (up to a point)

While my short film is now in the hands of the editor, that allows me more time to get back to working on the outline for the new action-comedy spec.

It’s coming along, but choices have had to be made in terms of how far to take things regarding the story and how things play out.

Do I play it safe and hold back, or do I throw caution to the wind and go all out?

Believe it or not, this was a tougher decision than expected. I don’t want to overdo it, but I also don’t want things to be boring. There’s pushing the envelope, and then there’s way over the top.

But then again, this is an ACTION-COMEDY, with an emphasis on both parts, so maybe there’s some kind of middle ground that would work.

It also helped to get the opinions of a few other writers, who all said for this kind of story, you pretty much have to ramp things up, but to also not let things get out of control, which makes it feel like you’re throwing everything at the wall, which reeks of desperation – which I do not like, or want.

What I do want is for the reader/audience to really get the impact of everything that happens because it all works within the context of the story while also reinforcing/supporting the action and comedy. Not an easy path to navigate, but I feel up to the challenge.

So that’s the plan. Most likely it’ll be initially putting it all together in a simple and straightforward way, then go back and figure out the best/most effective way to have each scene and/or sequence showcase the action and comedy when applicable. Sort of “How can this be more exciting and/or funnier while still accomplishing what it needs to?”

I also suspect that once everything is in place, that’s when the real fun begins. Even with all of this figuring things out, I’m really enjoying putting this one together and look forward to unleashing it on the world when it’s ready.

From the archives: If only you could eat a bad script

Rather a tasty metaphor, no?

I’d originally planned to repost this because I liked what the topic was discussing. It became especially pertinent after reading the first line. The past repeated itself this week with my fantasy-comedy also not advancing to the quarterfinals in PAGE this year. It stung a bit – especially after an earlier draft accomplished it two years ago. But it is what it is, and I’ve gotten past it as I focus on more important stuff. In the meantime, enjoy this post from July 2016.

Before we get to the gist of today’s post, let’s address the elephant in the room: my western did not advance to the quarterfinals of the PAGE contest.

Honestly, I was a little surprised; I thought it would have done better. After a brief wallow in disappointment, I shrugged my shoulders and moved on. It’s just another one of those things over which I have no control. I still have a ton of confidence in this script and might submit again next year. Also waiting to see how it fares in Austin and the Nicholl.

True, it was a rather lousy way to start the weekend, but over the next couple of days, I managed to redirect my focus, which included a nice long run that involved traversing the Golden Gate Bridge, and attempting something I’ve always wanted to try:

Making a pineapple upside-down cake (from scratch, naturally).

Guests were coming over for dinner, and I’d made pies for them before. But this time,  I wanted to try something entirely new and preferably a little challenging. I’d say this falls into both categories.

I scoured the internet for an ideal recipe, found one to my satisfaction, and followed the directions to the letter. The result? It looked like it was supposed to, and that’s where the similarities end. A little too sweet and the center was still kind of goopy. Nevertheless, my guests still liked it, and K & I split the last piece after they left. Not bad for a first attempt.

Why did it not turn out the way I expected? A lot of reasons. The oven’s a piece of junk. It didn’t bake long enough. The ingredients and the amount of them probably need to be tweaked. No matter what, I know now that I can adjust all of these next time and get closer to the results I seek.

Except for the oven. It will forever remain a piece of junk until it dies. Which can’t happen soon enough. But I digress.

Notice all of the comparisons you could make between baking and writing a script? Trying something new and long-sought-after. Seeking advice and guidance. Following the guidelines. Doing what I was supposed to. An okay-but-was-hoping-for-better initial result. Planning ahead on what to fix/adjust for next time.

If a less-than-determined baker ended up with the cake I made, they’d probably denounce the whole process, give up entirely and probably buy pre-made stuff at the supermarket. But we’re made of sterner stuff. We hit a snag or some kind of unforeseen development, and we compensate as best we can. We learn what not to do next time. Sometimes you end up with something jaw-droppingly amazing, and sometimes you end up with something totally inedible.

With this whole experience behind me, I can now focus on projects of the immediate future, which includes another round of editing and revising a script, and making a pie or two for a dinner party this coming weekend.

It’s my intention to have the results of both of these undertakings be totally and utterly irresistible when they’re done and ready to serve.